


Mantles Pass

by sanguineOcelot



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguineOcelot/pseuds/sanguineOcelot
Summary: A short one-off for a friend, regarding the Winter Knight mantle changing hands well before Lloyd Slate.Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm getting back to the Titan stuff. Consider this a consolation prize for waiting.
Kudos: 6





	Mantles Pass

I'm cold. But that's okay. The cold keeps my feelings away.

The man bound to the stone slab is furious. I can see the madness in his eyes. The hate. He's lost to the joy of killing, a knife that cuts any hand it can reach. He's not a useful weapon anymore. That's what we are to them. Weapons. Tools. Their instruments, in their eternal dance. But I was always a tool. I was born into servitude to humans, why shouldn't I serve these creatures? They've given me more than my human owner ever did. Especially the woman with the cold eyes.

She spoke to me in my dreams, when I was younger. I never knew her name. It didn't matter. She helped me. Mom told me stories of fairy godmothers, looking after the human children they loved, and I believed that lie like all the others. She was so nice and comforting. She took my pain away. She took my fear away. I asked her why, and she only smiled. I trusted her. I was wrong to trust anybody, but I was young. Naïve. I still felt things back then.

Then Dad died. He was out in the fields, and one of the horses got loose. It kicked him in the chest, and he just never got up. I asked her why these things happen. I begged her to do something about the cruelty, the senseless violence. To stop the Master from just letting my friends and family die. To make him understand that we were people, not property. She took my hands and offered me a chance to do it myself. To take matters into my own hands. To right the wrongs that burdened me so badly. 

Nobody paid attention to me. A slave child on a plantation? Who cares. I wasn't old enough to work any of the harder jobs, so as long as I kept out of their way, most people paid me no mind. The kitchen slaves didn't even notice me take one of the big knives. The cleaning slaves didn't even see me sneak into the Master's room, and hide behind his wardrobe. Nobody paid me any mind, but the beautiful woman with cold eyes was right there with me. She held my hand and explained what to do. She knew exactly when and where people would be walking. She guided me through, a pair of ghosts in broad daylight.

When the Master came back, he brought one of the slaves. I never knew her name, but I was numb already. I watched in silence as he hurt her. I couldn't feel fear anymore. Pain, anger, grief, they were all gone. All I felt was cold. And when the Master told the slave to go away, I knew it was time. He drank from his bottle and passed out in his bed, reeking of alcohol, and just like the others, never even noticed me with the knife. Why would he? I was nobody. Nothing.

I don't know how long I sat there, once I was done. The woman was trying to tell me something, but my brain didn't work right or something. All I could think was that I had killed a man - and I didn't regret it. The cleaning slaves found me like that in the morning. Holding the knife, covered in blood. Some of the other white men demanded that I be killed for what I did. The other slaves didn't like that. They fought, and men with guns came. I finally listened to the cold woman, and she told me to run.

I ran.

My family died on that plantation. So did I, according to the records. It doesn't matter. None of that matters. It's been two years since then, and I've lived under the cold woman's guidance. She's finally decided I'm ready. I don't feel ready. I don't feel anything. She says that's a good thing. She brought me to her boss, her Master, a woman made of Winter itself. I dare not speak her name. I dare not even think it. She smiled at me and my blood froze in my veins. She asked if I would be her Knight. Her killer. Her servant. I agreed. What else could I do with my life?

The creatures around her are monsters, but so am I. They've been killing since before I was born, but I can feel the cold now. I can feel the Winter in me. It hurts, but I don't care about that. The Queen has need of a weapon, and I will be that weapon. The creatures that gather around me even now are tall and thin, fluid and graceful, but they fear me. I can taste it. I can make them bleed. And once I'm her Knight, they will kneel at my command. 

The man on the slab doesn't matter. He's the Knight, for now, but not for long. The power of Winter is bleeding out of him. He was too weak. He gave up. Winter beckons to me. The Queen hands me a knife. I don't even look at it. I'm too fixated on the Knight. His neck. His blood. His power. A gentle push, and it all flows out, infusing my every cell with its bitter, murderous chill. 

One day, I will be chained to this table. His eyes assure me of this. I'll be so far lost to the bloodlust that I won't even realize why I've stopped killing. But that doesn't matter, because I don't fear anything anymore. I don't feel anything anymore. And I think I'm happier this way.

After all....I'm the Winter Knight now. Why shouldn't I be happy?


End file.
